A Writer?

Sometimes writing is just so overwhelming, whether because I have too many ideas, not enough, too many ridiculous expectations of myself, or just feel utterly inadequate. I’m someone who struggles with writing. It’s something I feel preposterous even admitting, as someone who wants to be a writer. Even more so as someone who is slowly beginning to call herself a writer.

Then again, what makes one a writer? Naming oneself? Writing? But what? How much? Is publication a necessity? How much? Where? Would my high school newspaper have been worse than an established magazine, made me less of a writer?

Is it how one writes? On paper or on a computer? Totally focused, regularly, sporadically, in spare moments, with distractions every few moments? I’ve done all of these.

Maybe categories aren’t the point. Maybe I’ve been a writer ever since I started my first journal in third grade. Maybe I’ve been a writer ever since I started wanting to be one, an event that’s much harder to pinpoint. Maybe it doesn’t matter, because I’m a writer now. Maybe it’s because of none of those things, but simply because God has placed the call, the need to write on my heart.

What can I do but write?


Rag Rug

Rag Rug 1

This is the rag rug I’ve been working on for more than a year now. Overwhelming, isn’t it? What I’ve done so far feels tiny and insignificant, and I feel so far away from the completion that it feels impossible.

I’ve been working on it in little bits: choosing cloth to cut up (old clothes that were far too ragged to give away for re-use), cutting it into painstaking strips, and finally, one by one, threading the strips into the holes. In a fit of excitement at my awesome project, I cut up the black shirts and made the border all in one day. “Oh, this wasn’t so bad!”

Every tutorial I looked at warned me that this was a long process, that the rug is created SLOWLY. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

My strips of cloth, waiting to be threaded into the rug.
My strips of cloth, waiting to be threaded into the rug.

Trying to build a writing career feels overwhelming. Heck, going on with my day feels overwhelming sometimes. Getting the dishes done feels overwhelming, leaving homework and relationships completely out of it! And all I can do is focus on the small things, one thing at a time, one moment at a time. That doesn’t mean I can’t or shouldn’t plan for the future, because I absolutely should. I must. Otherwise my focus is always just in the present, doing whatever presents itself. But I can’t focus on the entirety of what needs to be done. It’s huge and overwhelming, and that makes me freeze up, worry so much that I can’t get anything done. Instead, I have to look at what’s right in front of me, decide what my next task is going to be and focus on that. Just as with my rag rug, I can’t try to put ten strips in ten different holes at once. Instead, I have to go one at a time. Each one feels insignificant, just as each task sometimes feels insignificant. But, if chosen wisely, each task builds on the others, until eventually something beautiful has been created.


Doubt (Five Minute Friday)


This post comes at a time when doubt is beginning to creep in, when the shine is wearing off a new term, a new apartment, a new routine. The everyday is settling in; my optimism is rolling back. Is it possible to get everything done? Is it worth it? What is worth doing, and what is worth not?

Am I even doing the right thing?

The world is such a broken place. How does my one little corner, full of words and books and classes and a few hours in ministry, accomplish anything? How can I do such small things when the need is so big, so huge? I’m an ant before a dinosaur; smaller. The day is so long and yet so short, filled quickly with work and class and cooking and spontaneous conversations, and at the end of the day… what have I actually accomplished?

Yet what else can I do? I have been called here. After a few years of trying to finagle my way out, I’m quite sure that here is exactly where I’m supposed to be. And I am a writer; not because of anything I’ve published, but because words just keep on coming out, crying to be put on paper. Because Writer is a title stamped on my heart, right next to Child of God.

Who am I to argue with where God has placed me? It may not make sense, but I trust. I’ve gone off on my own before, and that’s never EVER gone well. I’m going to keep doing what I can, and give the rest to God; for God is always by my side, helping me out when I can’t manage. Which is pretty much all the time.


How much do you listen?

I try to listen, and to listen well. There is something beautiful about one person communicating their experience to another, the one trying so hard to put their life into words and the other trying so hard to understand the person simply as who they are, without bringing any of their own problems or ideas into the act of listening. There is something beautiful about sitting down to write, stilling myself enough to listen well. Some days that is difficult, days like today when I want to rush and go do other, more concrete things and maybe avoid a few of my sins and problems that are still bouncing around in my head and in my soul. But still I write. Still I listen, or try to.

No one listens perfectly. Faced with the same God, we each see something different–for who can see God in entirety? Faced with inspiration, experience, we each take that and try to fit words to it in different ways: different techniques, different goals, different styles. For me, writing is all about listening, and listening well.

Listen well, and share your small experience.

Celebrate (Five Minute Friday)


I’ve been following Five Minute Friday for a while, trying to get up the courage to do the freewrite and link my blog up. Expose it to the world. Today being the day is reason enough to celebrate! Not sure where the courage came from–except I am, of course, for my God is the source of all good things. That is another reason to celebrate. There are so many.

Even as there also are so many to not celebrate. Reasons, that is. The world is hard and broken and full of sin and sh*t like child prostitution and shootings and children being arrested for clocks and so much more. How do we celebrate in the midst of that?

We celebrate by looking forward, looking up. It may feel premature to celebrate what isn’t totally here yet, but Jesus came. Already here. Not yet. We celebrate by being Christ to others, fighting against that sin and darkness. Maybe by sitting with someone in their darkness. Maybe by doing nothing. God’s funny like that.

And that’s my Five Minute Friday for today. Worth it.

Reflections on Reading, Lately

I used to be an absolutely voracious reader–in some ways I still am, when I give myself the chance, but I often don’t. Readings for school are overwhelming and draining, and sometimes take away all desire to read anything. Reading gives me ideas for my own writing, in a bad, all-consuming kind of way; reading changes my whole writing style if I allowed myself to become completely absorbed in the writing and style and world.

And that is my favorite way to read. I want to enter into another world, totally and completely. I want to enter into a world that inspires, that forces me to think and ponder and look for God in unexpected places. And in some ways that’s the root of why I haven’t read much lately: I have high expectations, and I’m afraid that those expectations won’t be met when I pick up a book I’ve never read before. I don’t want to waste my time on something that isn’t good.

I’m not entirely sure when the shift happened, when I realized that this was an utterly asinine reason to stop reading. But I’ve been reading, these past three weeks, and it’s been beautiful.

The Silver Chair by C.S. Lewis This has always been one of my favorite Narnia novels–it’s just so clearly applicable to real life, day-in and day-out, unlike some of the more epic, battle-filled novels. I read this all in one day when I went home, where I have my nice copy of Narnia, which includes all the original illustrations. It was the first time in a long time that I’ve allowed myself to sink into a novel, utterly be absorbed by what’s happening and the world that’s being painted.

The Girl on the Road by Monica Byrne I picked this out of the library, based on the fact that it was a sci-fi book written by a woman and set in Africa. It’s intriguing: it’s set in the near-future, when the center of culture has moved to Africa and Asia and global warming is an acknowledged fact. The world-building is amazing. I still haven’t finished it; rather, I’ve been slowly savoring (by which I mean reading before I go to bed, forcing myself to put it down when I’ve read an hour longer than I meant to).

The Preaching Life by Barbara Brown Taylor Yes, it’s about preaching, but it’s also about the Christian life, and it’s beautifully written. Taylor writes vividly, full of Christian hope and joy but also achingly ????. I finished the first half, various essays on her own Christian life, all in one sitting, when I walked to the park last weekend. It was like drinking when I was dying of thirst; even when I felt full of insights and emotions and words, I couldn’t put it down. I’ve been using the second half, a collection of sermons, as part of my devotional practice this week.

Nameless book I read most of it while I was home and of course didn’t take note of the title, because I had no intention of writing this post at the time. It was a collection of short essays about established writers’ first experience of reading–not necessarily reading individual words so much as their first realization that reading is magical, reading is something that can show you whole new worlds. It was a great one to read as I was getting back into reading myself.

The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver It’s heartbreaking and beautifully written and I’ve been reading it every chance I get.